Joyce
"Come on, Jonathan," she whispered under her breath. She was leaning in the doorway, eyes fixed on the path she and Will had followed. Her fingers drummed against the doorframe impatiently. Overhead the sky was turning a rosy blue following the sunset. Reflected in the pond's surface was a heavy moon, growing brighter as the sky dimmed. Joyce checked her watch. They were thirty minutes late.
"Hey, Mom," Will called. He marched across the lawn carrying an armful of neatly cut firewood. "Mr. Clarke gave me some wood for the stove in case it gets cold tonight. He has a whole pile from last year stacked up behind his cabin."
Joyce tried to smile as he passed her and unloaded his cargo next to the stove. She waved to Mr. Clarke who was lighting citronella candles on the porch of cabin seven. The teacher gave her a concerned half-smile and an empathetic wave.
"I think I need paper to start this." Joyce turned to watch Will stacking the thinnest pieces of wood in the belly of the stove. "Or leaves? I could probably get some dry leaves in the woods," he suggested. He gazed up at his mom with a questioning look.
"How about we get some tomorrow?" Joyce asked. "I don't think we need a fire tonight." Even as she spoke, she wrapped her arms around herself. The sky was sinking to a deep purple and the temperature was dropping with it.
Will read the concern in her face and said confidently, "They'll be here."
Joyce crossed the room in three quick strides and hugged him. She envied his faith and was forever grateful for the trust her sons had in each other. Of course Will never questioned whether Jonathan would arrive. He trusted his brother, implicitly.
A sharp knock on the doorframe broke them apart. Joyce stood up to find Mr. Clarke standing politely on the front steps holding a citronella candle in a miniature aluminum bucket. His mustache spread with a big cartoonish grin and held out the bucket. "I figured you might need this if you're going to have your door open," he explained. "Take it from me. That pond," he pointed over his shoulder, "is a breeding ground for mosquitoes."
Mr. Clarke had arrived an hour earlier. He was one of a dozen new residents of the campsite and one of two people who owned cabins. His was larger than Hopper's and he immediately opened his doors to the Williams – a family of four with a daughter who was a grade below Will and arrived fifteen minutes after Mr. Clarke, looking as panicked and lost as everyone else. He was also, as far as Joyce could tell, distributing firewood to every other family and evacuee, as well as endless words of encouragement. How he managed to remain so positive, Joyce didn't know. But she assumed it had something to do with spending his days surrounded by rowdy children.
"Thank you, Mr. Clarke," she said, accepting the candle and handing it to Will.
"Call me Scott, please," he replied with another mustached grin. "And if you need anything else, I'm just a couple cabins away."
He turned just as a set of headlights broke through the woods, illuminating the path exit. The light heaved up and down as the car approached and Joyce raced out of the cabin. Suddenly a Blazer broke through the trees, narrowly squeezing through the campsite's entry. It idled for a moment and then the engine cut. The driver's side door swung open as another set of headlights glowed from behind, moving more cautiously down the dirt path.
Joyce's anxiety gave way to utter relief when she saw Hopper's silhouette slide out of the truck. The passenger door opened and the jumble of shadows in the cab was revealed to be three people she didn't immediately recognize. She raced across the dewy grass and threw her arms around the chief.
"Thank God," she cried. "I was so worried."
"The city's a wreck," he said shakily, holding her. "The cavalry was headed in when we were leaving: military, government, whatever special task force is assigned with this shit show."
"You weren't questioned?" Joyce asked.
Hopper shook his head. "I didn't stick around to go through that again."
The headlights of the second car cut out and she heard doors slamming just inside the forest line. Apparently Jonathan had decided to park on the path. She pulled away from Hopper to see three people emerge from the woods. She recognized the boy as Dustin, Will's friend, and the two adults with him must have been his parents. But no Jonathan.
Anxiety began to build inside her again. "Hop," she said slowly, turning to face him. "Where's Jonathan?"
Hopper gave her a blank stare. "He isn't here yet?" he asked.
"No!" she yelled. "How do you not know? You were with him!" She was shaking so hard she didn't notice the newcomers that were standing to the side, gawking at them. Her hands were balled into fists, clamped to her sides.
"Joyce, he'll be here any minute," Hopper assured her. "There wasn't enough time, so we split up. He went to get the Wheeler kids. And I went to find your friends," he addressed someone behind Joyce. She turned to see Will, silently watching from the edge of the pond.
Joyce covered her mouth with her hand nervously and gave the chief an imploring look. Hopper rubbed her arms, looking toward the dirt path. "He'll be here."
From behind Hopper, the curly-haired boy raised his hand. "Hey, Will," he called through the group.
"Hi, Dustin," Will replied.
The simple exchange punctured whatever tension was holding the crowd together and, one by one, Hopper's passengers and Mr. and Mrs. Henderson walked away, drawn to the light of Scott's cabin and the potential of claiming their own.
After the rest were out of earshot, Will asked Dustin and Hopper, "Where's Lucas?"
Joyce scanned the area. He wasn't one of Hopper's passengers. Neither were his parents. She looked at the chief and Dustin in turns. The boy dropped his head solemnly and Hopper ran his fingers through his hair a few times before answering. "Their house was empty," he said shortly.
"And…" Dustin prodded him to continue.
"And their cars were there." Hopper held his hands out in defeat. "The front door was open. And the neighbors said they heard…" He glanced sideways at Will. "Screams," he finished.
Joyce wrapped her other hand around her mouth and whispered, "Oh my God."
Dustin told Will miserably, "Lucas' bike was laying in their yard."
Joyce watched her son fold over and place his face in his hands. Dustin's duffle bag slid off his shoulder and hit the ground with a soft thump. In the distance, Scott was carrying on a conversation with the Hendersons in the flickering light of his citronella candles.
A beam of light faintly rose out of the woods from the path and Joyce's heart leapt. She and Hopper left the boys behind, walking toward the entrance to the forest. The headlights grew brighter, bouncing as the car maneuvered around fallen branches and dips. It turned a slight curve and Joyce recognized the old Ford. "Jonathan!" she cried out happily. Relief washed over her as a second car pulled in behind her son – the Wheelers, she assumed. But when Jonathan stopped behind the Hendersons' car, no one got out. The red and wood-paneled station wagon pulled in last and the doors swung open before Mrs. Wheeler cut the engine. Two other women that Joyce didn't know got out of the car and began removing suitcases from the trunk. Karen pulled her youngest daughter out and rushed to Jonathan's Ford.
Joyce was slowly walking forward, an vague fear growing within. Beside her, Hopper breezed past, his silhouette in the headlights casting a shadow across her. She heard a door open and the familiar voice of Mike. "Nancy's sick," he said. Then Joyce was rushing forward, caught suddenly in a group of six or seven people. Jonathan was there, looking shaken. He nodded curtly to her from the other side of the car.
"Sick?" Karen asked. "What do you mean sick?" She opened the passenger door where Nancy was hunched over in the seat. "Nancy?"
"I think maybe we should take her to a hospital," said a boy standing next to Jonathan. Joyce thought he looked familiar – maybe a classmate of her son's – but she couldn't place the name.
"She had like a seizure or something, Mom," Mike added.
Karen released her younger daughter's hand and knelt next to the car, grabbing Nancy's shoulders. "A seizure?" she repeated.
Hopper was standing next to her. "Has she ever had a seizure before?" he asked Mrs. Wheeler.
"No," Karen replied immediately.
"I'm fine," came Nancy's voice finally. She brushed her mom away with a halfhearted sweep of her hand. Everyone was silent, staring at her. "I just fell asleep and hit my head on the window," she explained. "I think I have a cold or something, maybe a fever. I just need sleep and an Advil."
The three boys exchanged nervous looks. Joyce felt certain they were debating arguing with her.
"Why did Mike say you had a seizure?" Karen asked, unconvinced.
"I don't know," Nancy whined. Joyce could tell she was exhausted. Whatever had happened, she was clearly sick and needed rest badly.
"I could be wrong," Mike backpedaled. Jonathan and the other boy shot Mike an identical look. Mike shrugged.
Joyce jumped in, "She can sleep in my bed." She smiled at Karen reassuringly. "I wasn't really planning on getting much sleep tonight anyhow."
Karen stood up and held out her hand for Holly. "Thanks, Joyce. Is Ted around here?"
Joyce looked past Karen at the station wagon, now empty. Somehow she'd assumed Mr. Wheeler was in the car, but the two women who'd ridden with Karen were standing nearby. "Ted's not here, Karen," she said.
